An Apple a Day
by KuryakinGirl
Summary: Sarah notices something peculiar about her partner's daily snack.


Disclaimer—Characters belong to Chris Fedak and Josh Schwartz. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Author's Notes—It's entirely too late in the night and I need to be up early in the morning. And yet... Silly muse, interrupting my sleeping patterns! One of my favorite things about the show is something they so rarely show us. The partnership moments. All mistakes are mine.

Spoilers—Very much none. Partnership randomness with a touch of as yet non-existent J/Ellie.

For my friend Cindy.

An Apple a Day—Sarah notices something peculiar about her partner's daily snack.

* * *

She didn't think anything about it the first day, second day or third day. She didn't even think too much about it after a week and a half. However, when Sarah Walker realized that her partner's snack of choice had been the very same for twenty-seven days straight, without fail, she started to think there was something going on.

"What?" John Casey asked, taking another large chunk out of the fleshy red apple.

She shrugged.

He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "Seriously, why are you looking at me like that?"

"No reason," she said, trying to busy herself with the mundane process of bureaucratic paperwork.

"Spit it out already, Walker," he grunted.

"Just..." She glanced up at him casually. "Did you buy out an orchard?"

He narrowed his eyes, unsure what she was implying. "I'm sorry?"

"Today is the twenty-seventh day in a row you've had some kind of an apple in the middle of the morning."

"Our government suggests a total daily allowance of two servings of fruit a day. I'm just following orders," he said before chomping another bite.

"I just can't help but think that the answer is simpler."

He frowned. "How can it be simpler than trying to eat healthy?"

"Casey, c'mon. An apple a day..." She drifted off.

"What?"

"You can't finish that sentence?"

"Okay. An apple a day... followed by another serving of fruit later in the afternoon meets the recommended daily allowances," he said with a shrug.

She closed the file she'd been working on. "You're really going to make me spell it out for you?"

"I'm not going to make you do anything. But if you're going to harass me about my eating habits, which, by the way, are above reproach, then I would ask that you at least explain yourself."

"An apple a day... keeps the doctor away."

"What are we, six?" he asked, taking another bite.

She wondered if he was trying to keep his mouth full on purpose. She also wondered how far bits of apple would be projected if she spoke before he'd had a chance to finish what he was eating. Doing quick calculations, she took a step back, hopping to have cleared the potential spewing radius. "I just can't help but wonder, Casey, if you're doing that intentionally on the off chance that it repels a certain pretty doctor next door..."

Her math had been wrong. Rather than exiting his mouth outwardly, he choked as he tried to swallow.

Sarah tried, desperately, to keep the smile from her lips as he slowly got himself all back together. "That's what I thought."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"She's the only one you call by her first name. Everybody else is their surname."

"That's not true."

She placed her hands on her hips, looking at him disbelievingly.

"It's not," he insisted. "Bartowski is occasionally Chuck. And Big Mike is always Big Mike."

"I would say Big Mike counts as a nickname. You don't have any trouble with nicknames. The various Buy Morons. Oh, and Awesome, of course..."

Casey couldn't prevent the groan that tickled the back of his apple-covered throat.

"Again... that's what I thought."

He narrowed his eyes at his partner. "What is?"

"How's it working for you? Twenty-seven days into your _fruity_ Ellie-avoidance program?"

He sighed, taking the last bite off his apple. "Considering I'm starting to get tired of this particular fruit?" he asked, tossing the core in the garbage can. "Not as well as I'd hoped," he admitted.

* * *

End.


End file.
